Something's Gotta Move Eastward

I always refer to myself as an Irish/ Italian and not Black.

No, really, and it's not because of some personal loathing of my race, but rather once what my ex said about my drinking: "An Italian man mostly drinks at home, and Irish men, mostly in bars." Well, I said to her, I must be both, baby. Also, SHE was Italian and she spoke Italian to some extent, and many of my friends and ALL of my relatives were and did, so like any piece of lint, I picked up the culture and language.


Well last night, I dreamt about Electra and me in some huge pizza shop with all the fixings chopped up in these cold tables, and fresh dough. We were still homeless together and we were starving! So we ran around, making the largest piece of pizza pie we could, just one thing. She pissed me off. Don't ask me why, this shit is a dream, alright. But she kept taking the fixin's that I would pick up out of the cold tables right out of my hands to disperse them on our pizza herself.


Now this pissed me off to no end, and I was about to rebuke her for it, until my Italian friends and relatives showed up for pizza, shocked and surprised that I was homeless and with another woman not my wife. I was too ashamed to answer or run, so I just stood there, as if naked before an audience. Not that I'm ashamed of being homeless mind you, or this blog would not exist. I really don't know why I had the emotion, but it was strong in me.


I look at the clock and it's One Forty in the morning. What time did I go to sleep? One? I get up, groggy but  not sleepy, with a hangover. But I haven't had a drink in ages. The feeling goes quickly, and I rapidly jump behind my computer, knocking away at the keyboard until there is a soft knock on my door. I barely hear it because I have Bjork blasting on my headsets but it was there. I take off my headsets, turn my ear to the door, and grow still. Did I really hear it? 


The handle turns angrily back and forth. "Let me in," a male voice says from outside, then knocks on the door more insistently. I put my headsets back on, ignoring the abuse that my door was taking until whoever it was began giving me an onslaught of sonic punishment by constantly ringing my bell. Now enough is ENOUGH! I jump up, ball my fists, drive anger up from my stomach, into my heart and then face, and snatch open the door.




Down the hall, running as if he had just started to run for his life was this older dude skidding to a stop and turning to me, waving his hands. "OH SHIT, guy. I thought this was the seventh floor," and then he hit the stairs and was gone. Useless motherfucker! But then again, I've done it too. I've gotten off on the seventh floor, not looking at the world around me, stuck my key in the door and found it not opening. It's common.

I stay up the rest of the night, into the day. I eat dinner around 10:00am and then there is another knock on my door. What the fuck is this? Grand Central Station now? I freeze, like a cockroach in the dark when you turn on the light and waited as the knocks came again. Soon I heard a familiar voice. "Hobobob, it's me!" It was Ivan. Why the fuck is he knocking on my door? I told him to slip a piece of paper under it with his name on it after knocking if he wanted me to open it.



I open the door. He is on the other side, excited. "Did you do it?" Do what Ivan? "Drop the rest of the users off the wireless router yet?" I shake my head. No. "C'mon, please, I'll pay you...I'll pay you." I had vaguely promised him that I would one day and shit, I still owed him a hundred dollars even though he uses my Internet for free, but what the Hell. Yeah Ivan, I'll do it today.


I shut the door and get to work on it right away. Why? Because I HAVE TO FIND SOME- THING TO DO! I get on the router through my web browser and check out whose using the wifi slots. Six users, two for me, one for Ivan and three for the world. It was time to disconnect the world. I lowered the user slots to three and submitted it to the router for updating. My Internet connection dropped then came up again. The transition had taken place.



For shit's and giggles, I re-check the users, but now, I see something that doesn't make any fucking sense. A little computer explanation here. Computers talk to computers by using an address, much like a phone uses phone numbers. So to simplify things. I had two phone lines into my router: 000 and 001. Ivan had 003, and some motherfucker named AHSKDLFK had slot 002. When I reduced the users to three, it dropped Ivan for this alphabet freak. No matter how I tried, I could not get this son of a bitch off 002. He had somehow hooked into this IP address and would not let go.


Now this pissed me off. I could not shake this fucker loose without losing Ivan. So I decided to find the manual, ruminate on it for another day and then deal with the problemo after brushing up on the functions of this device.


But whatever the case. I was going to kick Alphabet Freak's ass.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/12/something-gotta-move-eastward.html
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